


One Week

by eschscholzia



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Rebels, Star Wars: Thrawn Series - Timothy Zahn (2017)
Genre: Cooking, Coruscant (Star Wars), Established Relationship, F/M, Fireworks, Makeup Sex, Songfic, Tango, Unhealthy Relationships, Vaginal Sex, do not copy to another site, thryce
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-05
Updated: 2020-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-12 21:47:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23021788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eschscholzia/pseuds/eschscholzia
Summary: Arihnda and Thrawn are planetside for Coruscant's annual Ascension Week festivities. A disagreement on how to handle the pesky rebels spirals into a full-blown argument. Can they settle their differences and get a nice shag on before the week ends? An unapologetic songfic of "One Week," by Barenaked Ladies.
Relationships: Arihnda Pryce/Thrawn | Mitth'raw'nuruodo
Comments: 7
Kudos: 14
Collections: Ascension Week 2019, Once Bitten - Thryce Shy





	One Week

**Day 1: **

Arihnda moved smoothly around the galley kitchen. Jazz from the console in the sitting room provided an upbeat score to her chores. She swept the refrigerator door shut in time with the squawk of a kloo-horn. The groceries were all put away; she was ready for her residency on Coruscant. 

“Quenk? Again?” 

Arihnda scowled at the reusable grocery bag she was folding. She gave the crease a final pat, and turned around to face her lover. He stood in the doorway leading to the flat’s entry hall. His eyebrow quirked satirically. 

“It’s good to see you too.” She held one hand up to cup the back of Thrawn’s head, pulling it gently down to hers, so she could kiss him hello. After a minute, they broke apart. “Besides,” she said. “If I’m all by myself here in the flat, why shouldn’t I have some music?”

“I suppose it has the benefit that the loud and unnatural howls and squeaks conceal my tread, allowing me to approach you unawares.” 

Arihnda turned back to the grocery bag. She shoved it into the cupboard with only slightly more force than was necessary. “You’re welcome to change the channel if you’re not happy with it.” She turned back to him with a smile that only touched the surface of her face.

Thrawn slipped past her sideways and went into the sitting room. He fiddled with the tuner knobs on the console, and soon the sounds of classical music replaced her favorite Raf Finata Band. Arihnda followed him. She curled up in a chair; elbow leaning on the sleek molded synth-wood arm. Thrawn pulled a tumbler out of the cabinet. The lid of the decanter rang as he opened it, pouring himself a drink. 

“When did you arrive on Coruscant from Lothal?”

“This morning. Had five hours to sleep on the shuttle, then I’ve been in meetings with the constituent officers all day. I just got in.” 

Thrawn settled into the matching chair opposite her. She was very proud of the purchase of the chairs: the set was Virkoi Modern. None of the sybaritic form-chairs for her. He swirled his liquor in his glass, then took a thoughtful sip. 

She waited several heartbeats to let him savor it, then asked, “Did you give everyone shore leave?” 

“Yes,” he nodded. “The _ Chimaera _ is docked in the shipyards. We needed a resupply anyhow, and some maintenance.” 

Arihnda made a supportive noise. It didn’t require actual speech. 

“I left a skeleton crew to ensure the ship stays in orbit, but gave everyone a chance for shore leave who wanted it.” He paused, swirling his drink again. “I feel regret for the shipyard workers, though. They don’t get to partake in the festivities.” 

Arihnda didn’t feel bad for the indentured servants. Work still had to go on; the Imperial Fleet needed maintenance. They had brought it on themselves by getting indentured in the first place. 

In the background the radio announcer introduced a string quartet. She inhaled through her nose, and smiled at Thrawn. “I’ve arranged an invitation for us to Grand Moff Logano’s ball later this week. Moff Praji will be there. I think he’d be a beneficial person for you to know.”

Thrawn pursed his lips, then took another drink of his glass. “And why do you think he’d be a beneficial person to know?”

This conversation was not going the way she wanted. She hadn’t expected an interrogation droid. She rubbed her temples. “He’s a retired Moff from the Fourth Sector Army. He has still has influence in the Outer Rim.”

Thrawn tipped his head back and forth. “I don’t think socializing is the best use of my time here. I had planned to be at headquarters.”

The headache was definitely settling in the back of her eyes. Arihnda hated the change in climate and time from Lothal to Coruscant. How soon before she could politely get up and get a pain tablet from the ‘fresher? 

“He also is one of the few people who has managed to retire as a Moff, Thrawn. Surely you can appreciate his successes.” She held out her hands to him, pleading. “Thrawn, you have to be more aggressive and less conservative.” 

“I would prefer _ cunning _ as an ideal.” 

She sat back against the cushions. “Being ruthless is the only way to survive and succeed in the Empire, Thrawn. Crush your enemies, not make allies of them. You wear your heart on your sleeve. You can’t convert everyone. These terrorists are not going to say _ woe is us, we will aid your cause _.” Her voice pitch rolled to match her eyes. 

Thrawn leaned in. “But wouldn’t it be better to increase your forces while decreasing theirs? Maximize more variables at a time?”

“You’re crazy!” She knew where this was leading, but couldn’t help it. “This isn’t just about pure military strength and strategy. This is about fear and awe!” She waved her hands around her head. 

_ Mustn't lose temper further. Regain control. _ She blinked her eyes slowly, then clenched and unclenched her hands as she dropped them into her lap. 

Arihnda stood up from the sofa. She rubbed her forehead. “It’s late. I shouldn’t have brought this up. We’re both travel-lagged.” 

She locked herself in the ‘fresher, letting the scalding water cascade over her. Eventually she was able to lessen her headache by pressing the steamy washcloth to her face. Her thoughts went round and round. She didn’t understand why Thrawn was so reluctant to follow her advice on the intrigues that were so intertwined with Imperial life. Arihnda slammed the shutoff knob a little harder than was necessary, and instantly regretted it. She took good care of her things; she was proud of her Coruscant luxuries. After taking a pain tablet, she climbed into bed. Thrawn was already asleep, with his back to her. She curled up on her side facing away from him. The cumulative day overtook her and she soon fell asleep. 

* * *

**Day 2:**

Thrawn was gone the next morning when Arihnda woke up. She followed the smell of fresh caf into the kitchen. A note propped next to the caf-machine read simply: “All-day meetings at the arcology. Don’t wait up. MTN.” 

Arihnda sighed. The note fluttered to the counter. She shifted back and forth on her feet, to minimize contact with the cold kitchen tile stinging her toes. So many thoughts floated through her mind-- she should have taken the time to put on her slippers, should have had it out with Thrawn before he left, or should have settled it last night. He should have understood how important this all was. So many should haves. Arihnda growled in her throat. 

At least her lover was a good caf maker, even if he didn’t drink it himself. The first sip was delightful. It gave Arihnda hope to make it through her day of meetings of the Governors’ Subcommittee on Hyperlane Piracy. 

She poured a bowl of Veggo-Malt protein flakes and ate it at the small table in the dining nook. Her nose wrinkled as she stared down the cereal floating in the blue milk. It was unappealing, but there was a marathon week ahead of her. She needed all the nutritious fuel she could get, even if it tasted like packing foam. Arihnda resolutely dipped her spoon in for another bite. 

It was a little disappointing he wasn’t going to be home for the evening, but that was Ascension Week for you. So much packed into one week- meetings, celebrations, networking, currying favor with all the right people. Arihnda was honest with herself: those things weren’t what she had been looking forward to. What she had been anticipating, what she sorely needed, was a good shag from a certain blue naval officer. 

* * *

**Day 3:**

The Council of Governors meeting had been informative so far, but Arihnda had had enough. She couldn’t wait to get out of today’s session. She held a practiced look of great interest on the speakers, despite the wheels of thought turning in her head. She watched everyone else’s reactions out of the corners of her eyes instead of the actual speakers. The governors who wanted to show off the most sat down in the front of the tiered semicircles of tables, but what they gained in visibility to others, limited their own field of vision in turn. She was quite happily ensconced on the edge, where she had a much better view of all and sundry. Still, she wanted some time to process her insights for use as leverage in future. Arihnda’s assistant was trained well; he was in the back taking notes on the substance of the conversation for her to review later. 

“...and so, we will meet again, the same time tomorrow,” the moderator finished. “I’ll look forward to seeing you all in an hour for our afternoon activity, watching the Chin-Bret match.” 

Dismissed. Everyone pushed their chairs back and began milling about. Arihnda gathered up her datapad and stylus in preparation to leave. 

“Oops!” Somebody crashed into her, pouring cold caf down Arihnda’s sleeve. It trickled over the back of her hand onto the desk. 

Arihnda scowled at the intruder. It was a young assistant, probably fresh out of some backwater Imperial civil service academy. 

“I’m so sorry!” whimpered the assistant in a Mid-Rim accent, as she attempted to dab at Arihnda’s sleeve with the edge of her decorative scarf. 

“Don’t bother,” Arihnda hissed, grabbing her arm back from the assistant. “Next time watch where you’re going, or I’ll make sure your next posting is Kessel.” 

She’d have to change. There was no way she could to go a box at T’Chuk Arena looking (or smelling) like this. Weaving between the small clusters of people conversing in the meeting hall, she found her own assistant. “I’m going to go back to my flat and change. I’ll meet you at the arena. Do you have your credential?”

“Yes, Governor. I’ll save you a seat.” There was no trace of Lothal in Leef’s voice; she’d paid for him to have dialect coaching. She had standards in her office, and good impressions were everything. 

She hated going out in public with the caf down her sleeve, but at least the flat wasn’t that far away and traffic was light. It was only a short walk up from the speeder park to the flat. The passcard froze in her hand as she entered the flat; the lights were already on.

“Hello?” Arihnda called out.

“In here,” Thrawn replied. 

She found him in the sitting room. He was on the sofa, spinning a tactical model in the air in front of him. She leaned through the sparkling blue and yellow battlegroup representations to kiss him. 

“Mmm…” he hummed. With a press of one elegant finger to the holo-emitter, the galaxy of ships around her head disappeared. “I did not expect you back mid-day.” 

She pointed to her sleeve. “I’m trying a new transdermal caf-delivery mechanism.”

“Ah.” He wrinkled his nose. “I wondered about the source of the fragrance.” 

He grabbed her around the waist, tugging her into his lap. Arihnda squeaked. 

“On the other hand, many find the fragrance of caf… invigorating.” He waggled his eyebrows at her. 

Arihnda tapped her chin thoughtfully. “You’ll have to help me out of it. I want to get it in the wash before it stains.” 

Thrawn clicked his tongue. “We can’t have that.” He moved one hand to the closure at her waist, and popped it between two fingers. 

Arihnda smiled. Thrawn’s hand moved upward to the second closure. It was undone with a flick of his wrist. The tails of her tunic fell open, exposing her bare skin to the air. She shivered. 

The third and fourth closures revealed her binder. Arihnda cringed inwardly. Why didn’t she wear a nice binder today? “Sorry it’s a plain one,” she murmured. 

Thrawn looked up at her. “A master of strategy would have planned ahead for multiple eventualities.” 

She shrugged. “I’m not you.” 

“And I thank every nebula that you aren’t.” He undid the final clasp at her collarbone, and peeled the front open. Arihnda shrugged out of her tunic sleeves, dropping it onto the cushions next to them. She shivered again in the air. 

“Cold?” Thrawn rubbed his thumb in circles over strategic portions of her binder. Her skin broke out in gooseflesh, and only partially because of the slight chill. 

“Mmhmm,” she mumbled. 

The binder only created more resistance to his thumb, holding her nipples back as they strained to pop outward. The triangle of her legs tingled. Arihnda sucked her lips together. 

She turned slightly in his lap to put her arms around his shoulders. The metallic braid of his shoulder loops scratched the underside of her arms. _ Cost of doing business , she decided. She leaned in to meet his lips with hers. _

A few moments later, she changed her mind. “Your tunic has to go,” she announced. Too scratchy.” 

The barest hint of a smile turned up the corner of Thrawn’s mouth. “By your command, Governor.” He reached his hands very slowly to his collarbone, never breaking eye contact with her. 

Arihnda shifted in her place. She put her hands on his, trying to take over. 

He pushed her hands away. “No, let me.” 

She rolled her eyes, but carefully placed her hands in her lap.

One fastener undone. 

Arihnda twined her fingers together. 

With a flourish of his long fingers, he undid the second fastener. His tunic flap fell open, exposing a view of his pewter undershirt. 

She smiled with her mouth closed, glaring at him. She wanted to kiss that smirk off his lips, but she’d play this game. 

Third fastener. Gravity pulled the flap further open. The curve of his one of his pectorals was just visible. Arihnda knew from experience that his chest was as solid as durasteel, not just from the experience of blocking punches and kicks during their occasional sparring matches at the dojo. 

She twisted her fingers so hard it hurt. 

Thrawn slid his fingers lower along the seam of his tunic. They paused at the fourth fastener, and then fell to the sofa armrest. “Oh, I thought of one thing. It came up in the meeting today at the arcol…” 

“Enough.” Arihnda fought the urge to rip the tunic open herself; more than a couple clasps had gone sailing across the room or been lost in the cushions over the course of their relationship. Arihnda grabbed his hands and put them back on the edges of his tunic. 

Thrawn’s red eyes nearly bored through her skull, one eyebrow cocked. She held his glance without blinking. She was going to win this. 

She ground herself in his lap; the friction sent shivers all the way to her shoulders. “How about that last clasp?” she murmured.

“Oh yes,” he drawled. “I forgot.” 

Without breaking eye contact he pinched the closure between thumb and index finger, and tugged. The recoil pressed his forearm across her chest. She inhaled sharply at the flush of sensation, but did not let her hands go. 

“Now?” she pleaded.

“Now.” 

Caf-stained tunics and admiral’s regalia were all cast aside in a heap. The lovers tangled together with the ferocity brewed in many weeks of separation. Arihnda felt as if she couldn’t get close enough, intertwined in full body contact though they were. She pressed him back into the cushions, desperate to satisfy the tension that burned underneath her skin. The synth-satin lining of someone’s tunic gave way against the fabric of the sofa, and they were deposited onto the floor slow-motion like snow slumping off the Westhills. 

He slid across the carpet. “Ooo.” Thrawn sagged slightly to one side, grabbing his kneecap. 

Arihnda cringed as she stared up at him. That rug burn was going to hurt. 

The jarring pause gave her the detachment to decide to renew her argument of the night before. 

“Promise me,” Arihna pounced, rolling him over and pinning him beneath her. 

“Pardon?” 

“Make me a promise that you’ll talk to Moff Praji tomorrow evening.” 

Thrawn tipped his head back, staring across the room at the far ceiling. “I don’t think it is necessary to talk to him.” 

“Hmmm,” she nodded, even as she fought back a growl of annoyance. Never breaking contact, Arihnda bent over and kissed away any further objections lingering on his lips. 

Just when she thought she wouldn’t be able to stand it any more, she pulled away from him. A flash of pained confusion crossed his face. 

“Arihnda?”

“That’s what you get for not taking my advice on networking.” She thought she might cry from the unmet need that throbbed inside her. But she wouldn’t let him see that. She narrowed her eyes, steeling her resolve that she didn’t a hundred percent feel. 

“I should have known you were going to be a tease.” His voice was tired. He rubbed his forehead. 

Arihnda laughed. “Get yourself together and come back and see me.” In one fluid motion she rolled toward the sofa, pulling herself up on the arm rest. 

She smirked as she stepped over him and headed to the bedroom. Looking back over her shoulder, Arihnda tossed off, “This interlude is over.” 

A very quick sonic and she could make the second half of the Chin-Bret game, she resolved. 

* * *

**Day 4:**

The taxi let Arihnda out at the landing for Moff Logano’s apartment building at a prestigious level and sector. She checked her chrono-- fashionably late but not too late. She hurried up the steps, pulling up her invitation on her datapad for the stormtroopers at the door. 

“She checks out.” The stormtrooper who inspected her datapad waved her through. 

The frosted doors slid apart silently, revealing a hallway intricately paneled with wooden inlays. Muted music drew her forward to the hallway’s end, her heels clicking on the Selonian marble. She paused before the door, raising her palm to the door chime. It slid open without her touch, her palm still upraised. The music played at full volume now. Just inside the entryway, a group of people clustered around Moff Logano, who stood stiffly next to a seated woman with her ankle propped up on a footstool. Arihnda deduced this was his wife. 

She joined the queue to greet her hosts. While she waited her turn, she took stock of the room. Arihnda glanced seemingly casually around her, making sure not to let her eyes linger overlong on anyone. There was the usual complement of Imperial officers and ISB officials in uniform, the colors contrasting with the glittering rainbow of fashions worn by the Senators, Governors, and other Coruscanti elite. The party spilled out of the central room onto a terrace she could see beyond. The music was coming from a piano quintet at one corner of the long room. She ran her tongue along her teeth. Live music was expensive; how profitable was Moff Logano’s over-sector? She snapped back to attention as the ISB officer in front of her stepped aside; it was her turn. Arihnda turned on her most glittering smile. 

“Grand Moff, thank you _ so _ much for having the Governors’ Conference this evening, and Madame Logano,” she bent to extend her hand to the seated woman, “I hope there is a good story for your injury?” 

Madame Logano shook her head and sighed. “It was at chin-bret practice this afternoon. Tripped over a pike.” 

“Ooo.” Arihnda grimaced sympathetically. 

“The doctor said I can have the bacta wrap off in the morning, but for now I have to stay off it.” 

Arihnda murmured her best wishes for a speedy recovery and turned away from her hosts. She set her sights on the Moff for the Tion Hegemony. She needed to get their buy-in for the upcoming vote in the Subcommittee on Piracy. The Moff was standing next to a table attended by a serving droid, piling a plate full of finger foods. Her stomach gurgled. Perhaps she could nab a snack along with the Tion Hegemony’s promise of support.

Several negotiations and various introductions later, she retired to a seat on the side of the room to adjust the strap of her shoe, which had come loose. 

“Governor Pryce?” 

Arihnda looked up. Thrawn loomed over her. Her hand froze on the thin buckle. Doshing high heels. 

“May I compliment you on the color choice of your gown? The Mon Cala blue is but a shade darker than your eyes.”

Arihnda’s treacherous sternum suffused warmth throughout her chest, despite her resolution to punish her lover. “Such high praise, from a student of color. I thought you didn’t believe in flattery?” She held her head back and looked up through her eyebrows. 

“I believe in light, and the spectrum that makes it,” he replied.

Arihnda rolled her eyes. “What brings you to this corner of the room?” She resolutely let go of her ankle, carefully returning her foot to the floor. She leaned her elbow on the edge of the table, and clasped her hands together. 

“I need your assistance, Arihnda.”

“Oh?” 

“Part of Madame Logano’s planned entertainment for the evening was to be a display of her favorite dance, a tango.”

Arihnda’s head immediately turned to Madame Logano, as surely as if Thrawn had said “Don’t look now, but…” Their hostess still had her foot propped up. Someone in an elaborate purple and orange ensemble was handing her a bouquet of flowers. 

Arihnda shook her head. “I think your entertainment is off. She can’t dance tonight on that ankle.”

“That is where you come in,” Thrawn pressed.

Arihnda closed her eyes. She counted to four, then reopened them. “I’m not sure I follow.”

Thrawn leaned forward. “You have previous experience with the subject. In fact, you placed second in Division 2 of the Garel City Tango Festival.”

“How did you know about that?”

“I have resources,” he drawled. 

Her stomach dropped when she realized his resource was probably the bookshelf in her bedroom, where the second-place statue resided.

She tossed her head. “We’ve never danced together.”

“Then no one will suspect anything more than two acquaintances doing their hostess a favor.” He leaned in. “And I know that Madame Logano has always enjoyed the Mixed Draw at the Chandrilla Master Classes. She’ll, how do you say it, ...eat it up?”

She could only nod silently. What else could she do? The things she did for love. “You owe me,” she said finally. 

Thrawn nodded at her, and walked away. She presumed he would inform their hostess of the change of plans. Arihnda reached for the glass of water next to her and took a deep swallow. This would be… interesting. 

She tried to put the upcoming exhibition out of her head while she carefully mingled with the right people, alternately cajoling and persuading and negotiating support for her subcommittee report. Despite the placid and earnest expressions she stretched on her face as the situation required, her pulse pounded in her chest. How would they pull this off? She didn’t know Thrawn’s signals, they didn’t understand each other’s stride, and why in the two moons did she agree to help him when she was still mad at him? 

All too soon the evening’s entertainment was announced by a beaming Madame Logano. Arihnda hoped this would curry favor with the Grand Moff as well as his wife. And perhaps give her a chance to press her case with Thrawn as well. 

They walked out onto the floor, their hands held loosely. Someone in the audience whistled. She hoped it wasn’t anyone she knew; she’d have to take them down a few levels. He squeezed her hand slightly in encouragement. Winking at Thrawn, Arihnda dropped his hand and took several steps back, which he mirrored. 

A flourish of keys from the piano, and she began counting bars in her head. This was a battle, plain and simple. The victor would be the one who didn’t get distracted. 

Arihnda set her chin, and stalked across the distance in time with the measures. She stretched out her arm forcefully to snare him in her embrace. He clasped one of her hands, and let the other arm slide down to her waist in a caress. The ripple of his hand along the velvet of her dress made her shiver in pleasure. 

“How does an art historian come to be interested in tango?” she teased, as they circled each other. 

“Dancing, like art, is a revelatory exercise. Culture determines the matrix of potential steps, but individuality their utilization and combination.” 

The musical figure renewed, the intro was over. With gentle pressure of his hand, he signalled their beginning. They moved down the floor in long steps, legs moving in parallel. 

“How does a governor come to be interested in tango?” Thrawn asked in turn.

“For the exercise,” she rejoindered. 

They shifted position, and once again circled each other. Arihnda looked up through her eyelashes at him, while his red eyes bored into her hers, his sensuous lips pursed. She shivered.

“Tonight, will we resolve matters to our mutual satisfaction?” he asked.

“I hope we can. It would provide common benefit,” she murmured. 

Thrawn caught her waist coming out of the step, and she swung her leg around behind her in a flawless _ boleo _ . Thrawn pivoted behind into back _ sacada _, which she followed. “You think that by repeatedly pressing me with your arguments that I will eventually yield,” he said. 

“I hope to persuade you to add more tools to your arsenal.” 

Thrawn’s leg bent, and she caught his knee in a _ gancho _, her ankle just grazing the surface of his trousers in a seductive slide. 

“Opa!” somebody called out in a Mid-Rim accent. 

Arihnda grew more comfortable in the music. She was not entirely familiar with the piece, but Thrawn’s signals were decisive and he kept the beat, only hesitating when the music did. She wondered if there would be a chance to do this again. She hadn’t danced since she had to denounce her partner for disloyalty to the Empire. 

The violins chittered in a complicated passage. With a gentle pressure Thrawn marked the next shift, their footsteps intertwining as they quickly moved down the floor in a complicated _ Wuitho frizzle _ step pattern. Arihnda swirled on her toes, crisscrossing his shiny black officer boots with dainty steps of her silver high heels. Exhilarated by the close contact, she tried to press her opening. 

“Moff Praji has practical experience. He can open doors for you.”

“Moff Praji is retired. He isn’t involved in current policy.”

“Have you brought the terrorists in my sector to heel yet, Thrawn? Current policy says unlimited force, not your mouse and tooka game.”

“The tooka pauses for the right moment to pounce.”

The piece swelled in a crescendo of staccato notes and punctuated steps, the velvet flounce brushing against his upper leg. In a flash of pique, Arihnda hoped it would leave blue lint on his white trousers that he would have to go after with space tape. The music stopped, and momentum carried her forward to bury her face in his neck. Her nose was stifled; she smelled his familiar tangy juniper. 

There was a stunned silence as the last notes reverberated in people’s heads, and then the room erupted into thunderous cheers and wild applause.

“Thank you, Arihnda,” he murmured into her bob.

“Hmmph.” 

They spun apart, acknowledging the applause with outstretched free hands. They turned to their hosts. Arihnda made the obligatory curtsey that ballroom etiquette demanded, one hand on her chest, even though she didn’t feel she needed to bow to anyone in the room. The things she did for the Empire.... She looked up to see Madame Logano beaming at Thrawn with more than an appreciation for his footwork. Her mood curdled further. They applauded the musicians, acknowledged the crowd once more, and broke apart. Thrawn walked off in one direction, she left the floor by another. 

Arihnda’s heart pounded. She thought she might equal parts laugh and cry from the pain of their dance; none of their sultriness had been an act. She needed a moment to pull herself together. Arihnda slipped this way and that between the throng to the balcony. Air. She needed fresh air. The balcony door swished shut behind her. She took deep gulps of the cool night. 

The balcony doors swished behind her a second time. Arihnda wished herself invisible against the new arrival. She stared resolutely out at the night. Down below, speeders and taxis and transits streaked by in an endless blur of colorful light. She concentrated on calming breaths, hoping that if she didn’t turn around, whoever it was would get the hint and go away. 

“Centi-credit for them.”

Arihnda turned around. It was Thrawn’s XO, Faro. She was wearing her standard charcoal uniform, business-like as ever. She held a champagne flute, the purpose of which Arihnda surmised was more for something to do with her hands than for the libation. Faro was always outwardly serene and capable; Arihnda felt threatened that Faro was more of a workaholic than she was. Did Thrawn’s XO ever live outside work? 

“Commander Faro.” Arihnda pasted on her fake smile. “It’s so good to see you. I assumed you would still be on board your ship, hard at work. What brings _ you _ to a higher echelon gathering such as this?”

Faro sipped at her champagne flute. “I cultivate connections just like you. Isn’t it good to mingle with fellow Imperial officials and promote the exchange of ideas?” Her voice lingered just enough over the ‘mingle’ to be pointed. “The back and forth is just _ so _ exhilarating.” She smiled at Arihnda. 

Ooof. Faro had claws out tonight. Arihnda decided to tread carefully. “Yes, the networking has been very beneficial this week. Everyone is concentrated in one place. It’s been good to talk with people who share a mutual concern for the benefit of the Lothal Sector.”

Faro dragged a finger across the steel of the railing to test for cleanliness before leaning on it with one long elbow. “And that’s all that was going on between you two out there on the dance floor? Discussing the terrorists?”

“Yes, that’s all.” Arihnda raised her eyebrows. 

“Hmm,” Faro murmured. “Governor Haveland had to shut her poor husband’s mouth after that display. His jaw got stuck two levels below.”

Arihnda’s first response was to inwardly cringe. Outwardly she remained impassive. Had they made a spectacle of themselves? It would be a shame to blow their carefully papered-over secret. She seethed at the criticism. 

Faro took a step forward, but Arihnda held her ground. “Look, I don’t know what’s going on between you and the Old Man, but don’t mess things up for the rest of us on the _ Chimaera _, okay? We’re the ones who get the fallout of whatever games you two are playing.” 

“I find it hard to believe that the Grand Admiral would ever let his civilian activities affect his command.” Arihnda affected shock with one hand to her chest.

Faro leaned in. “Oh but yes.” Her voice held a conspiratorial whisper. “When he is in a bad mood, he’s been known to switch up the duty rosters, put crews from third watch to second and first to third. Extra target drills. Takes it out on us, calls it ‘flexibility’ and ‘readiness practice’.” Faro squinted. “But we all know what’s going on.” 

Arihnda blinked. “I wouldn’t know what you’re talking about,” she said breezily. 

“No, you wouldn’t. That’s the problem. But there’s a shipful of us who would do anything for the Old Man. Don’t pull that thread. You might not like what’s attached to it.” 

Arihnda wasn’t going to dignify that with a response. She scowled into the sparkling darkness of the traffic lanes below. 

Faro pushed off from the railing. “Oh, I see someone I should talk to, so I’ll go now. Do think about what I’ve said.” She didn’t even wait for a response, but went back inside. Arihnda kept her mother loth-wolf smile plastered to her face. Through the glass, Arihnda saw Faro talk to an ISB officer with dark curly hair and a long face. Arihnda hadn’t seen him before at these gatherings. She mentally categorized him for further investigation. His large ears were a salient feature for future reference. 

Beyond the doorway, the orchestra began playing a jaunty quickstep in a minor key. She smoothed down her uniform and went back inside, carefully triangulating a position in the room as far as possible from both Thrawn and his XO. 

* * *

**Day 5:**

After not seeing or hearing from him all day, Thrawn came back to the flat in the evening. Arihnda was bent like a pepper pretzel, her leg against the wall, when he arrived. Even if she didn’t have time to go to the dojo, she had resolved to still practice her Stages to stay limber. She unbent from her pose and brushed any dust, real or imagined, from her soft practice trousers. 

“I didn’t expect you back tonight.” Her tone was calm; her anger had faded. The Stages met their purpose. 

“There is a datapad that I needed to acquire for tomorrow.” Thrawn pointed at the shelf in the living room.

They stood several paces apart. His back was ramrod straight, not relaxed in the slightest. Arihnda wanted to cross the distance, greet him properly, but her pride held her back. Her mouth went dry. “Are you staying the night, or do you have to go back,” she managed, finally. 

“Staying,” was the terse reply. “It would take too much time to shuttle back and forth.” 

Arihnda tapped the wall with her finger. “I’m just about to put on a pot of tea. Do you want some too?” 

“Thank you.” Was that a hint of softening from his voice over the last few days? She flicked the knob for the stove, and the bubbles began chasing each other around the edges of the glass kettle. She busied herself pulling out two mugs and tapping the tarine leaves in the tea ball just so. 

When it was ready, she handed Thrawn his mug without comment. He thanked her as she took up position opposite him in their usual chairs. The calm of her forms still layered over her like a thick blanket on a cold winter morning. Dispassionately, Arihnda watched him over her mug. Thrawn sat casually, with one ankle propped up on his other knee. The datapad rested on his thigh as he flicked through with one finger. 

“Ah, yes, here is the data point that I needed for the analysis,” he suddenly announced, mug halfway to his lips. He looked up at her. “Moff Praji mentioned something last night, and it fits neatly with this report here.” Their eyes locked. _ Was he saying she was right? _ She smiled at him and at herself. He was too dogged in his pursuits sometimes, but he meant well. Thrawn was a genius at connecting the threads. Arihnda couldn’t fault him. Thrawn blinked. The moment passed. He took another sip of tea and looked back down at his datapad. 

Arihnda curled deeper into her chair. The warmth of the mug seeped into her hands. She had let go of her anger, even though she had told herself she wasn’t going to. She still wasn’t going to give him satisfaction in bed, though. Arihnda sighed. Being in a snit was hard. Driving her enemies before her, seeing them crushed into dust was one thing. But successfully punishing her lover by punishing herself? That was another thing entirely. 

* * *

**Day 6:**

Arihnda woke up to her alarm beeping. 0630 hours. She smelled caf. The bed next to her was empty again. She had had such… interesting dreams. Sadly they were only dreams. She stretched and tried not to close her eyes again to go back to sleep. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and resolved to face the day. But first, caf. 

Following her nose, Arihnda found that the kitchen was a scene of industry. Thrawn moved this way and that in the narrow space. Next to him on the counter were neatly chopped piles of blue cheese and broccoli and mushrooms. She craned her head to see what was in the frying pan. An omelette. 

Thrawn carefully set the spatula into the spoon rest next to the stove. “Good morning,” he murmured. He drew her into a hug, and kissed her forehead. 

She stiffened in his arms, and did not return the affection. “Good morning,” she said into his apron. 

He took the hint. Thrawn dropped his arms. He turned back to the stove to stir the liquid egg to the side of the curds in the pan. “There’s a new batch of caf just finished in the caf-maker, and I just finished squeezing the meiloorun juice for later. Your omelette is almost done.” 

Two Corellian muffins popped out of the toaster with a ring of springs. He grabbed the muffins and deftly buttered them, distributing it evenly with a knife like the bakers on the HoloNet competitions frosted their cupcakes. He flipped the halves together, and set them aside. 

Arihnda poured herself a mug of caf, adding just a splash of milk and a bit of sugar. She leaned against the wall. 

“So, what did you learn from Moff Praji? Did he give you any good sources to cultivate for your TIE Defender project?”

Thrawn delicately slid the omelette onto the plate.

“I learned about a link between the recent piracy in the Ison hyperlane and the use of enslaved souls.”

Arihnda leaned forward. They had been discussing this all week on her subcommittee. Her ears tingled. “What’s that?”

“The Empire is willfully ignoring a slave smuggling hyperspace route because they are receiving significant kickbacks from the criminals.” 

All the wind left her. She leaned back against the counter, trying to comprehend it. All the work they were doing on their subcommittee, was it being defeated from the inside? 

“Czerka Corporation?”

“Possibly. Or those working as shell covers for them.” Thrawn added the Corellian muffins to the plates. He sprinkled the cheese over the omelettes, then wiped the edges of each plate with a cloth. Arihnda followed him as he picked up the plates and carried them out to the table in the seating area. He sat down at his place, unfolding the napkin for his lap with a crisp snap. 

Arihnda stood for a moment, hand on the back her chair, blinking. “But why?”

Thrawn poked at the holo-emitter; his map of systems and hyperlanes came up again. “The why is obvious,” he said around a bite of muffin. “The benefit to the Empire is that they can use the money to finance other things.” He spun the holo-display as he thoughtfully chewed. “The new question is _ where _ are they taking the slaves.”

* * *

**Day 7:**

They attended the grand finale of Ascension Week as was expected for people of their rank. Even if it weren’t an opportunity to see and be seen by all the best people, the fireworks show in the plaza was worth braving the crowds. They used Thrawn’s access card and Arihnda’s status as an ally of Grand Moff Tarkin to watch from the balcony at the Admiralty. 

As always, there was a reception beforehand. Arihnda alternated working the room and trailing past the buffet with longing eyes. She limited herself to only one time through the carving station, even though the roast nerf was exquisitely rare and the combination of tangy and sour flavors popped on her tongue with the spicy garlic sauce. There were too many hours in the dojo in her future as it was. By the end of the evening, she was pretty sure she had landed a mutual aid agreement with some of the other planetary governors to share intelligence on a band of pirates operating out of Florrum. Periodically her eyes searched the room for Thrawn. His face was often almost pained with the stress of making polite conversation. At least one of the other admirals had a similar interest in statuary to converse about. Thrawn was not as convivial as Arihnda, of course, but he didn’t have her background in advocacy and networking. Their eyes met. He nodded, she smiled back, and they each returned to their respective conversational groups. 

After their individual political and social conquests, they sought each other out when it finally grew dark enough for the sky show to begin. The balcony was large, and had room for all the guests who wanted to watch. Arihnda grabbed two glasses of wine on their way outside. Handing Thrawn his, she sat next to him on a set of folding chairs. They were half-hidden in the shadows between two columns. She snuggled closer to him than protocol allowed, but enjoyed the comfort the gentle pressure of his side presented.

Why did he always resist her advice? Arihnda only wanted to help him. And when he advanced, she benefited. She forgave Thrawn’s idealism, as always. His idealism was part of his attractions-- the idea that somewhere there was a world where promotions resulted from merit and achievement, rather than who you knew or stepped on to go higher. But she was practical. 

Bang! A crackling bloom of yellow and red disrupted her reverie. The crowds in the grandstands below cheered. It was followed by another blossom of blue and green. As pinwheels of white sparks screamed overhead, Thrawn silently laid his hand on her leg. Arihnda smiled in the darkness. She squeezed his hand gently, then crossed her arms again. He removed his hand, just as silently. Her thigh felt bare in its absence. She permitted herself to not think, to let her mind lapse and just watch the display in front of them. It went on and on; the ecumenopolis never let itself be outdone by colonial displays, either in artistry or length. A memory of running with the other children in their mining town on Lothal waving sparklers flitted through her head. Arihna supposed it must have been before the Drought, when everything was tinder dry and sparklers would have been forbidden, before the Empire finally came to their aid. 

“Ohhh…” Her reverie broke by the collective appreciation of a purple and pink and blue three-phase chrysanthemums. It was quickly followed by a bouquet of green and blue and red bursts, screamers cometting high over the statues of the Founders. The rapid succession of fireworks illuminated the pale smoke of the black powder drifting above the Plaza. Around them a set of golden crackles burned the Imperial crest in the air over the crowd. Then the sky went dark. Applause and cheers drifted up from the crowds below. 

After the grand finale, the party began to break up. One admiral was collapsed drunkenly in a chair. He snorted as his adjutant attempted to rouse him. Arihnda didn’t know him personally; she thought he might be from the 34th Fleet. There was a terrible briney smell as she passed, marking him as someone who had overindulged. 

Arihnda and Thrawn left the party individually, staggered for the sake of appearances. She made it home first. The warm glow of the nightlight over the stove reflected into the entryway. She didn’t bother turning on the lights. Arihnda pulled at her heels, removing her uniform boots. She left them neatly next to the door. She undid the closure of the top flap of her uniform and unbuckled her belt as she padded into the bedroom in her stocking feet. The nubs of the bedroom carpet massaged her toes. 

The tunic and slacks went back on their hanger in the closet, next to her other uniform sets. Today’s binder and socks went into the laundry sorter. Shivering slightly in the chill, she flicked an eyebrow when her gaze fell on a purple satin slip. Arihnda grinned and dragged it over her head. 

Thrawn arrived ten minutes later. The lock clicked back in place as he shut the apartment door behind him. 

“I’m in here,” she called. She set the datapad she was reviewing aside on the nightstand. Arihnda tied her dressing gown a little tighter at her waist and got up to meet him at the doorway. 

“Was that necessary?” he asked. He looked pointedly at her tie. 

She looked up at him through her lashes. “But…” she pouted. She reached up on her toes to kiss him. 

“I’m just going to have to loosen it soon enough.” Thrawn slid his index finger along the curve of her neck. He caught the left edge of her dressing gown with his finger, dragging it along her shoulder. The strap of her teddy rolled under his thumb as the sleeve cascaded down. It caught on her forearm, exposing her shoulder and upper arm to the air. The dressing gown fell away, doubled over on itself at her waist. With a quick motion, she untied the waist tie and it puddled on the floor around their feet. 

“Are you trying to finish our unfinished business?” She prodded his chest with her free hand. 

“Yes, if you’ll let me.”

Arihnda chose not to say anything. Instead she responded by using her free hand to pull his head down to her, kissing him more thoroughly. It had been just as painful for her to pull away a few days earlier, but she had gotten her point across. This time she intended to make use of the time she had left. She pulled needily at the closures of his tunic, reaching inside to run her hands over his undershirt. Thrawn unpinned his rank plaque and set it on the nearby table, always thinking ahead before she might knock them to the floor. His hands were only gone a moment, then returned to rest on the small of her back, pulling her tightly to him. The pressure of the bulge in his uniform trousers proved he was just as eager as her.

She smiled slowly. It was such a smug feeling to know she could do this to him. Caught up against him like that, her arms were trapped between them, preventing her exploration. Fingers splayed, Arihnda dragged her hands out of his tunic, the pressure of her fingertips leaving creases across his undershirt. The artificial distance of her arms removed, Thrawn pulled her even closer. The satin of her nightgown slipped against the coarse ribbing of his undershirt, dragging softly against her skin. She stood on tiptoes, straining to kiss him. He leaned slightly to meet her. Arihnda moaned softly into his mouth. She wrapped her arms around his torso, and tugged on the back of his tunic, trying to remove it. 

Thrawn took half a step backward. Removing his arms from her waist, he carefully slid his arms from the tunic, one sleeve at a time. Thrawn’s eyes never left hers. Arihnda held her breath; she felt dizzy. A week of anticipation had made her equal parts parched but determined to drag it all out. Thrawn broke the gaze first. He turned to carefully drape his tunic over the back of a nearby chair. 

She barely gave him a chance to straighten up before she pushed him against the wall, yanking his undershirt from the waistband of his trousers. Arihnda tugged it up, running her hands across his chest. As hard and as smooth as the working face in the lower levels of Pryce Mine # 3, she thought appreciatively. 

“No teasing, Arihnda.”

“No teasing,” she promised. 

She rolled the undershirt over his shoulders and head and tossed the garment to the side. At that moment, they lost all inhibitions, all pretense of slow appreciation. Panties, uniform trousers, boxers, were all divested in a frantic stumble toward the bed, where they landed in a heap, hands roving, mouths meeting in teeth-knocking urgency. 

She broke the kiss first. She pivoted away from him, kneeling with her legs on either side of his, reverse nerfherder style. Thrawn held his dick toward her as she lowered herself onto him. A grin of relief spread her mouth as the thick bulb passed her entrance. She closed her eyes and savored the unique features of Chiss maleness. She began to rise up and down, concentrating of the feel of the ridges against her walls as she tightened and relaxed her inner muscles in turn. 

It had been too long since she had had a good screw, Arihnda realized. She did her best to drag out her enjoyment, postponing the end as long as she could. The tingle grew in her core until the tension snapped. “Oh Moons,” she mewled, forgetting to move in her ecstasy. Stars exploded behind her eyelids. Thrawn took over, thrusting against her, his dick pounding against her cervix in exquisite pain. 

She barely had time to bask in the glow of her fading aftershocks when Thrawn quickly rolled to standing next to the bed. Grabbing her by the legs, he pulled her hips to the edge of the mattress. He re-entered her, setting a furious pace. Arihnda wrapped her legs around his waist as he drove into her. She fought to keep her legs in position, pressing him against her as he held onto her legs like handrails. She dug her fingers into the fitted sheet, trying to keep a purchase. Thrawn pursued pleasure like he pursued his puzzles: relentless. Arihnda placed all her focus on returning his earlier considerations. With a gasp, he reached his climax. His knees buckled and he collapsed gently over her, cradling her in his arms as he panted gently in her ear. Arihnda smiled past him at the ceiling like a loth-cat that ate the cream. 

After a few heartbeats, Thrawn placed his hands on the bed and pushed himself up, freeing her. She tottered to the ‘fresher a little stiffly. A few minutes and some splashes of water in strategic places later they were both back in bed. Thrawn had resumed his regulation undershirt and boxers, and her nightie was restored. The panties were somewhere lost in the sheets, but she tugged the hem of the lingerie down over her hips. She reached over to tap the light controls, and the room went to black. Thrawn’s warmth burned into her back as they spooned together. A feather-light touch brushed her shoulder. She supposed it was an accident of Thrawn settling in; she wasn’t willing to say it was more than that. Her heart still raced from the exertions as she stared into the blackness. Arihnda closed her eyes and focused on her centering meditations to try for sleep. 

Sometime in the middle of the night, Thrawn woke her up, tracing featherlight touches from her navel to her folds. Fighting her dream paralysis, she forced her eyes open. He was staring at her with the hungry gleam in his eyes that meant one of two things: conquest in battle, or conquest in bed. Arihnda shivered as his fingers dipped into her folds, circling her nub. With a tremendous effort to fully wake up, she flipped herself over him, pinning him to the bed, and claimed him a second time. 

* * *

**Day 8:**

The weather was slightly cool and gray as Arihnda looked out over the balcony. The faint mist made little stings on her face, but she didn't mind. It was refreshing. Maybe the weather control center workers were hung over from the last night’s festivities, or perhaps they were doing it on purpose to contrast with the highs of the past week. The festivities were over, back to work. She wrapped her hands around the mug of caf, leaning her elbows on the railing. Down below, scattered teams of workers disassembled the grandstands.

“Good morning.” 

She smiled at the low voice in her ear, but did not turn around. “Good morning,” she replied. 

His arms encircled her, hugging her from behind. 

“I must return to my ship, soon.” 

Arihnda set her caf down on the small glass and metal table next to her, and turned around in his arms. She reached up to smooth the lapels of Thrawn’s uniform. There was nothing there, of course, but it reassured her somehow to brush off the invisible nonexistent dust. One last bit of physical contact before they went back to flickering blue figures in the holo-emitter.

The smile she gave him was close-lipped, and thin. Arihnda inhaled deeply through her nose, and sighed. So there was to be no apology yet. She could wait. “Send me any word you get on the terrorists.” 

He bent to kiss her. It lasted a heartbeat longer than a perfunctory goodbye, but not long enough to be satisfying. When she reopened her eyes, Thrawn was already halfway to the door of their flat. The door hissed behind him as he left. Arihnda shivered, pulling her robe more tightly around her. 

* * *

**Epilogue (Day 10):**

Arihnda sorted through the datapads with her assistant Leef, trying to decide which should be kept active, and which ones could be safely stored at the Imperial Archives. As a governor she tried to make the most efficient use of her residencies on Coruscant and on Lothal. Some of the cases were still open and needed her personal attention during her time on Coruscant. Some needed to be handed off to her local arrangements deputies, and some were closed. There was no sense storing old files or carrying them back and forth in her cargo allotment. The comm on Arihnda’s desk chirped. She looked at the identification. It was him. She shook her head.

Sighing, she turned to her assistant. “I need to take this call on a secure channel. You’re dismissed.”

The young man nodded, and then left the room. She pressed a button, and Thrawn’s ghostly head and torso shimmered in the projector.

“Thrawn. What can I help you with? Is there trouble in the Garel sector already?” 

“This is not a business call, Arihnda.”

“Oh.” Her eyebrow went up. This time she put a little sauciness into her voice, since the tone of the call had changed. 

Thrawn lifted his chin. “I want to say that I was wrong. Speaking with Moff Praji was beneficial. I apologize for resisting your advice.”

The corners of Arihnda’s mouth pricked up. “I’m also sorry, for losing my temper with you.”

Thrawn’s eyebrows narrowed. “I expected it would be too much to hope that you would have changed your mind to agree with me on how to deal with the terrorists.” His voice was sardonic. 

She crossed her arms and leaned in. “Don’t press your luck, Thrawn. I didn’t apologize for disagreeing with you.” 

“Until next time?”

Arihnda smiled wistfully. “Yes. Good hunting, Admiral.” Her finger hovered over the end button; both of them had work to do. She added as an afterthought: “And take care of yourself. Pryce out.” 

**Author's Note:**

> So, um, this is the story for my own challenge from May 2019, that I am finally finishing 10 months late. The prompt was "fireworks." [blushes] I hope it is worth the wait! I decided that Rebels Remembered 2020 was as good an excuse to finish it as any. If you are curious, this is based on [the timeline posted at "I Love Charts" on Tumblr.](https://ilovecharts.tumblr.com/post/18448564253/bare-naked-lades-one-week-joel)
> 
> Thanks go to Evilmouse for being my beta and feeding me a critical plot element when I was stuck. EM's suggestions improved the story immensely. Any mistakes are the fault of my lack of sleep. Shout-out to Inconocible for playing Planetary Mad Libs for me, and the rest of the Thryce and Ghost Fam Chat Discords for encouraging me in this extended process.
> 
> If you are interested in some background music or visual inspiration, I made a YouTube playlist of my favorite Tango videos (plus one non-tango) [here](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLK3wwm4a8G8j50soji9BhwhZqamePum4R).


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